Like the Sound of Loud Fire
by Insomniac Owl
Summary: Azula's back from the institution, and Zuko has mixed feelings.


**Like the Sound of Fire**

_By Insomniac Owl_

Zuko visits his father out of obligation, and his sister out of spite. It isn't as though he has to – he's the Fire Lord, after all – but some nasty dark thing inside him pushes him to see her, a desire that hasn't died even after her year spent at the institution. He wants to gloat, wants to curl his lips into her smug, confident smile and tell her in her purring voice that he's _won_. When she first arrives at the palace, however, he can't face her. A full week passes before he's gathered enough of himself to bring to her, and then he can only visit in the dead of night, when she's asleep and the moonlight pouring over her body in cool, white strips makes her look small and vulnerable.

The second time, it's the end of the day and he enters without announcing himself. He slams the door open, hoping to catch her by surprise, but she doesn't even flinch. It's Zuko who does that. It's Zuko, not Azula, who freezes, one still hand pressed against the door, his world narrowed to the three or four feet of space she occupies with her legs crossed neatly beneath her.

"To what do I owe the honor?" she asks dryly.

He hadn't expected the sight of her to shock him, but it does. Badly. Her hair's a little shorter and she's lost a little weight, but there's that same gravity to her presence, that same confidence in her eyes.

Or maybe it's just that he's forgotten what it's like, being in the same room as Azula.

Sometime during the visit she gets to her feet, paces back and forth a few times in her cell, and stops a foot or so away from the bars. He'd asked her about the institution, and she pauses, eyes fixed on some indeterminable point beyond his shoulder.

"It was a lot like this palace is now," she says, stepping forward. "Stifling."

The look in her eyes changes then and, quick as a snake, she throws herself at the bars. Zuko feels her hand against his throat, her long nails digging into his skin, and he chokes, pulls himself free and stumbles against the door. Shocked, his throat burning, he can't force out a coherent word, managing only a garbled "Wh-". Her attitude had changed in the space of an instant, and then she'd been moving, too quickly for him to track, and her hand was on his throat and_ she could have killed him_…

Even in the dim light filtering through the window he can see her smile, harsh and smug and sweet, as he fumbles for the door.

"I'll take you down, Zuko," she promises. "I'll win."

**x**

Part of Zuko regrets locking her up. As children Azula had been the obstacle he needed to overcome, but as they grew and Zuko found himself falling further and further behind, he resigned himself to the truth. She was simply better. So it was only fitting that he look up to and try to emulate her, though his mother disliked it and he never measured up, ending his days with bruises and singed fingertips and little to show for it; it was only fitting that he look on with amazement and envy as she performed feats it would take him years to master.

But no matter how many years and distances separate them, they always come together again, because they need each other, are drawn to one another like opposing magnetic forces.

No matter how far she falls Azula is still his sister.

Weeks pass, and he loses himself in pointless government work, spending late hours in the throne room with his advisors and record books. It distracts him for a while, but each night he asks the guards what Azula's been doing, and each time he gets the same answer. 'Nothing, Your Majesty. She's been very cooperative.' He doubts this, but says nothing.

And then, then reports reach him that she's not doing well. She's eating, but barely; she's listless and quiet, and won't respond when the guards call to her.

**x**

"The guards tell me you're behaving yourself. It, well, it got me thinking." He pauses, peering up to see if his words have had any effect. They haven't. She's looking at him, but her eyes are unfocused and distant, and he knows she isn't really seeing him. He looks down, picks at a fingernail.

"I've been thinking that maybe I should release you."

Something in her gaze flickers. "Oh Zuzu," she whispers, eyes finally meeting his. "I taught you everything you know about power. That's one of the touchstones of psychological warfare, raising your prisoner's hopes only to crush them."

"It'd be on a provisionary basis, of course," Zuko continues, as though he hadn't heard her. "And you'd have guards with you around the clock. But you'd live in a good room, in the southern wing of the palace, and you'd get to go outside."

Life has begun to come back into her, one hand reaching up to cover a yawn. "I won't live in a place governed by your laws, Zuko," she says coolly. "I'd rather die."

"You've been living in my country for over a year. Why haven't you killed yourself, then?"

"This isn't your country," Azula hisses, shoving herself to her feet. The effect is startling. He's been thinking of her as a prisoner, a word which carries the implications 'weak', and 'docile', and 'beaten', but she's still taller than him, and in the dim light her eyes flash hard and bright as obsidian glass. "This cell is mine," she tells him. "Here, you visit me; in this room you follow my rules. You can call the guards, but it will be on my terms, because I decide when to react and when to stay silent." She pauses, her voice calming somewhat. "In fact, compared to you, Zuko, I'm already a free woman."

"What are you talking about?"

"Poor Zuzu," she whispers. "You might be the fire lord, but you're still just a lonely little boy, eager for his sister's approval. You just can't stay away from me, can you?"

"Of course I can."

"Prove it."

He flounders, sees her smile as she leans forward to grip the bars of her cell. "Well if you don't want me to release you then fine!" he says. "Stay here and rot; see if I care!"

She laughs, the sound like bells only much more raw. "Oh Zuzu, if you really meant it, then set me free. I'll disappear into some corner of the earth kingdom, living out my days as a small crop farmer. You'll never hear of me again." She meets his eyes squarely, challenging him. She'd been faking weakness all along, of course; locked away like this, alone, she has become poisonous but also patient. It's in the way she stares at him. It's in her eyes. His mind tells him it's a trick, that she can't do anything because she's in prison and he's the fire lord besides, but his heart quakes and wavers, and tells him she will win, in the end, because she is Azula.

"I hate you," he hisses, grey smoke leaking from his fists.

Azula smiles.

**x**

"Despite your best efforts, Zuzu, I don't understand your idea. Why not take what you want? That's power, after all, being strong. And strength determines right or wrong. If Father and I had won the war, you would be written off as a traitorous upstart, doomed to failure against the might of the Fire Nation army. Stubborn, but doomed." Her voice is confident, but she's tired, propped against the wall as though she can't support her own weight. Even so, Zuko never gets the impression of weakness. Her voice is strong, her words powerful; the sound of them echoes against the stone walls.

"No," he protests, "you couldn't change the minds of thousands and thousands of people just by putting a few sentences in a book. As long as they know the truth, there will be resistance."

"But they _would_ know the truth, Zuzu. They would learn in school that the exiled crown prince set off on a mission, to join his enemies and defeat his own flesh and blood. A traitor. They would learn that, after a hard fought battle, the Fire Nation's army came out victorious."

"There would still be pockets of resistance. Nomads. Swamp-dwellers. People you don't see. They will have children and they'll pass down their histories – their true histories." His voice sounds desperate, even then, and he hates himself for it.

"They will be killed. Anyone who speaks of revolt will be quietly abducted from their homes and disposed of. We will send spies into their ranks, to ferret out the traitors. We will hunt down every last thought of treason, and we will stomp it into the ground. Don't you see, Zuko? If you're efficient, there will _be_ no dissension."

"Still, word will get out. It can't not. I mean, people _notice_ when someone vanishes in the middle of the night, and they'll –"

"And they'll what, Zuko? Will they march on the palace? The Fire Nation has armies and weapons those back-country peasants have never seen the likes of. In the cities we will teach children to hate their parents, for the treasonous acts they committed against their government, and in a generation the world will be ours."

"But that's exactly what you tried to do during the war! And what about the Avatar?"

"Ah, yes… but there ways to get rid of even _him_. Wasn't he frozen in ice for a hundred years already? Throw him in a freezing chamber, like the coolers at Boiling Rock, only colder, then bury him _deep_. As long as you kill all the people involved in the process, you'll never hear of him again. And what then? Nothing will stand in the way once he's gone."

"I can't believe that. A government as totalitarian as the one you want will never last. A nation that is so cruel to its people will never –"

"But where did you get that idea?" The corners of her mouth twitch. "The Fire Nation prospered under Father's rule. It was Ba Sing Sae where slums sprung up; it was in the Water tribes that people starved to death. The Fire Nation's citizens were wealthy in comparison, and that's how it would be for all people under our rule. Honestly, Zuko, I thought you'd like the idea. No more war; no more violence. Just peace and prosperity and wealth."

"But it's forced. It wouldn't be real. If you have to keep the threat of death over everyone's heads to make them obey you then it isn't peace – it's imprisonment!"

"If they're happy, what's the difference?"

"It's – it's just wrong!"

Azula looks at him thoughtfully, then sighs, as though disappointed. "But who are you to say, after all," she says, more to herself than to him. "You're just a coward and a traitor."

"No," he says firmly. His hands are shaking, but he stills them. "I'm in control here. I'm the Fire Lord and you're my prisoner; I could have you executed with a wave of my hand."

"You could," Azula admits coolly, "but you won't – so it doesn't matter, does it. If you don't use the power you have then it's meaningless; you might as well not have it at all. And if you have no power, but can gather it… you can turn the tables."

"I won't let you."

"Well," Azula says, lowering her head to stare at him through the bars. "I guess we'll see, won't we."

**x**

"Do you know what they taught me at that institution?"

"No."

"They taught me to feel again. They taught me self-reliance and stability. They didn't teach me your political views or your moral high ground; they just taught me to live." Her face is inscrutable, even in the bright afternoon sun streaming through window. "Do you understand?"

"Honestly, no. But if it makes you happy, I'll say that I do."

**x**

Zuko opens the door and, as has become their practice, launches right into conversation. They disposed of pleasantries a long time ago; sometimes they go entire visits without looking each other in the eye, and sometimes Azula falls asleep when Zuko's talking. At first it was because Zuko was spiteful and Azula bitter and angry, but he likes to think that, now, it's because they're comfortable enough with one another that it just doesn't matter. Not when they've gone through what they have.

Whether this is true or not, he can't keep the biting tones from his voice when he speaks to her, can't keep bitterness from creeping into his words. No matter that when he looks and sees her fading all he feels is pity; anger and resentment have colored his interactions with her for as far back as he can remember. It's a habit he can't break. That's all.

"I should have you executed," he says, arms crossed and leaning against the closed door. "As a traitor to the values of the Fire Nation, it's no more than you deserve."

"You don't have the guts." Her words are and sharp and clear as always, but he can see the tiredness in her body, in the way she sits slumped against the wall opposite.

"You're right. But apparently that's my strength."

"Who told you that? Uncle?" She frowns vaguely. "Besides, you want me alive."

Zuko hesitates. "What do you mean?"

"You want proof. You want a trophy. You want something to think about when you've been having a bad day; you can say 'Well, at least I beat _her_.' But the thing is, Zuko, you didn't beat me."

"What are you talking about? I did too; in case you haven't noticed you're in prison."

"No, Zuko, you and your friends beat me. You were too afraid to take me on alone, without the help of a crew, without Uncle, without that ugly water bender friend of yours or the Avatar."

"That's not – There were –"

"You wouldn't have accomplished anything without the Avatar!" she yells, all control suddenly, completely gone. Her eyes are wide and blood-shot, and she leans forward until she's almost crouching. "You couldn't have beaten me on your own!"

Over a year of dealing with council members has given Zuko some self-control, but even so, it's difficult to stay calm in front of Azula. Even like this she knows him inside and out, knows how to work people – and oh how well Zuko knows _that_.

"Maybe," he says eventually, folding his arms to hide the emotions still roiling just below the surface, "but that's not the point. You were defeated. That's all that really matters."

She doesn't have an answer to that – just another poisonous stare.

**x**

Zuko slips out into the city the next day, through one of over a dozen underground tunnels hidden beneath the palace. They're meant to be used in case of trouble, but since Zuko was crowned he's used them simply to get out of his responsibilities for a few hours, overwhelmed by the workload and just needing to escape.

It's good to be outside, away from the red-painted columns and grey order of the palace, but he walks quickly even so, with his head down and a large hat pulled over his eyes. He doesn't stop until he's safe in the back room of his uncle's teahouse, away from people who might recognize him, and insist on thanking him and standing in front of him as they bow.

"Why couldn't you have had your teahouse in the palace, Uncle?" he grumbles, tossing the hat on the table and shedding his jacket. "Having to come all the way out here when I want to see you is an inconvenience."

Across the room at the stove, Iroh laughs. "Because common people have more interesting stories to tell. And because I've had enough of politics. Now, do you want jasmine or green tea?"

"Jasmine's fine."

Accepting the cup with both hands, Zuko sets it down without drinking from it. "Actually, though," he says, as Iroh sits across from him with his own cup, "there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Of course. What is it?"

"Well, I just…" he stops, staring at his hands for a moment before pulling them into his lap."I don't know what to do," he says finally.

"Good, because I know exactly what you should do."

"You do?"

"Yes; you should drink tea! Tea makes everything better." He laughs again, but Zuko scowls, reaching to clasp his cup in both calloused, lightly scorched palms. He doesn't drink from it.

"Uncle _please_, this is serious."

"So is tea – especially jasmine." Iroh smiles, but his expression sobers when he sees Zuko isn't reacting to his jokes. "Alright, fine," he grumbles. "Have you talked to Mai about this problem?"

"No, she… she wouldn't understand. She'd just tell me to have her executed or something."

"Oh, I see. This is about Azula…. Have you talked to Aang about her, then."

"Aang's halfway across the world," says Zuko bitterly. "I haven't seen him in months." When his uncle doesn't respond, Zuko looks up, then down again, and keeps talking. "I know she deserves what she got. Life in prison's probably too good for her, actually, but… well, she's my sister. When I visit her she looks so defeated, and she used to be so strong."

"That strength is what made her dangerous. A lame lioness won't endanger the flock, Zuko."

"I know, but…."

"Will you release your father, too?"

"No. I can't forgive him for what he did." He sees the look on Iroh's face, and hurries on. "But it's different with Azula. She was never as bad as my father, and she's younger, so there's time for her to change. In fact, I think she already has. She's quieter now. She still gets under my skin, but I look at her and I just… I pity her, Uncle. I shouldn't, but I do." He really only means the last part of this explanation; the rest sounds plausible, and may even be true, but it's not why he wants to release her. It doesn't matter to him if she's changed, and it doesn't matter how old she is: she's his sister. No matter how much he hates her, a corner of his heart will always admire her.

Iroh is silent, drinking away his tea. Every now and then he looks across the table at Zuko, who sits with his hands on his knees and his head down, eyes on his tea but mind obviously elsewhere. When Iroh finishes his cup, he rises and pours himself another.

"More tea?" he offers.

"No."

"So what should I do, Uncle?" Zuko asks eventually.

"…Prison, Zuko, is the best place for that girl."

"What happened to believing in people?" Zuko asks. "What about second chances? Why did I deserve one and not her?" Something in his face changes, determination shifting subtly to anger. It's an echo from his childhood, before he'd joined the Avatar during those last days of the war – before he'd learned his lessons and taught himself control. The sight of that expression makes Iroh cringe. Zuko, head half turned away, doesn't notice.

"There was good in you, Zuko," Iroh says. "There was mercy and loyalty. All Azula knows is cruelty and manipulation. I know you want to believe there's good in her too –"

"There _is_, Uncle. At least, there isn't cruelty in her anymore."

Iroh sighs. "You sound sure."

"I am."

There's another long silence, broken only by the sounds of conversation and clinking china filtering through from the main room. Iroh presses the tips of his fingers together, his head bowed over them as if praying. "I'm only your advisor, Zuko," he says finally. "If you think this is best, then do it."

Zuko bows his head, pressing his hands together in a salute. "Thank you, Uncle."

"Will you have some more tea, before you go?"

But he's already begun to gather his things, picking up the hat and shrugging into the jacket. It looks too big on him, Iroh thinks. He looks like a child in adult's clothing.

"No thank you," says Zuko quietly, pulling the hat down over his eyes. "I should be getting home."

Back at the palace he takes a glass to the bathroom, fills it with water, and shuffles back to his bedroom. Sits on the edge of his mattress. Drinks the water. When he's done he sets the glass on the windowsill again, and stares, blankly, at the distorted curves of light that appear on the wood.

The fact of the matter is, Zuko feels guilty. He feels guilty for goading Azula, and throwing her in prison, but mostly for defeating her, because she's a genius and he's just Zuko, and how did he get lucky enough to beat her in the first place? All his life she'd bred in him a peculiar mix of hate and awe, the desperation to prove himself and the knowledge that he never would. So when he sat up in the courtyard the day Sozin's comet passed over, and saw the impossible… he hadn't known how to react. The rest of the day is a blur, but at that moment he remembers thinking_ No way._ _No way... _Azula met his eyes across the courtyard, her body straining against Katara's ice and her eyes filled with hate and denial, and it was like looking into the eyes of a captured god.

He hadn't thought it possible.

She'd screamed at him as guards took her away, but he hadn't been able to say a word in return. Katara left to find Aang; his uncle showed up, and still Zuko sat propped against a column, staring at the doorway where he'd last seen his sister. He felt numb, disconnected, strange. Elated, but also let down.

That evening, when word of Ozai's defeat spread through the city, its citizens began to celebrate. Fireworks, streamers, masses of people gathered in the square singing military hymns. The statue of Ozai there was pulled down and carted away. Fires and fights erupted in the streets. Watching it all from his bedroom window, Zuko had felt an acute sense of guilt, recalling the look in Azula's eyes and the expression on her face. He didn't sleep at all that night, and he remembers thinking _Is this how it's going to be for the rest of my life?_

He drinks another glass of water and flops onto his bed, fully clothed, the hat sent sailing across the room into the wall. It will be a long time before he falls asleep tonight, too.

**x**

"Azula."

No answer.

"Azula, I want to tell you something."

Again nothing. Zuko sighs, leaning against the bars of her cell, trying not to notice the dullness of her eyes, which are only half open, or the slackness of her hands.

"I'm going to see about getting you out," he says quietly. She doesn't respond. Zuko wonders if she's fallen asleep. "I should know by Friday, so that's three days from now."

She looks up only when he turns to leave several minutes later, her eyes tired and apathetic. Zuko doesn't see, but as he shuts the door behind him he feels, just for a moment, a presence at his back, a solidness that's been lacking in Azula's cell during his last few visits. Her silence annoyed him at first, and he'd snapped at her, pacing back and forth in front of the bars and making wild gestures, but as the days passed it began to affect him, too. He'd grown quiet and withdrawn. Worried. Guilty. Aang and Katara stopped by to visit several days before, and he'd spent a few perfunctory minutes making small talk, before apologizing because, really, there was a lot of work to be done, and could they maybe stop by some other time?

It isn't love that drives him to do this, because he never loved Azula – and it isn't guilt, either. This is what Zuko tells himself. In reality it's both those things, and it is pity and fear and righteous indignation, and a hundred other, less identifiable emotions. If asked how he felt about his sister now, Zuko simply wouldn't be able to answer. All those emotions would tumble around in a confused mess and his mind would lock up, his throat would close, and he would turn away flustered, awkward, silent.

He leaves her cell as quietly as he'd entered, sneaking a back glance over his shoulder – but she hasn't moved. The knowledge frightens him, and as he climbs the stairs out of the prison he swallows once, hard.

**x**

The council doesn't like his idea. The secretary of internal affairs spills his tea, he's so upset, and General Kuro forces his chair back with a sharp screech and cries "Outrageous! Utterly outrageous!"

When the room finally settles their comments are all the same delicately worded warning, their frowns hidden behind clasped hands. "The people won't like it, Your Majesty," one general says. "Releasing her would cause great civil unrest."

"The people," Zuko says, "don't even know what she looks like. She could walk through a crowd and no one would notice her."

Tzu, the secretary of defense, raises his hand. "But do you really think she'd keep quiet, Your Majesty?" he asks, dark eyes serious. "Even if she took a new identity she would gather people to her, and bend them to her will. She's cruel but enigmatic; you of all people should know that."

"I do, but… none of you have visited her in prison, have you." One by one, every council member shakes his head. It's the response he expected, and, slowly, Zuko presses his fingers into the fine grain of the tabletop, keeps his eyes down. "Prison's changed her," he says. "The guards tell me she has trouble sleeping, that she won't respond to them…. Her spirit's breaking. Give it a little more time, and we won't have anything to fear when we let her go."

He looks up as they all shift nervously in their chairs, and sighs. "I want you all to visit her sometime this week, then, and see for yourself. I'll let the guards know. We're done here for today."

The squeak of chairs being pushed back mingles with the rustle of papers, and he almost misses Tzu trying to his attention. The general is standing with his palms flat on table, leaning forward, his expression both earnest and pained. "Your Majesty," he says. "Your Majesty." The others stop gathering their papers, and the hall quiets. "Please, this is a very bad idea, Your Majesty; I don't think –"

Zuko pushes himself to his feet, the earnestness in the man's eyes fading to fear as he realizes what he's said, what his words really mean. "I've been kinder than Azula. I've let you speak your mind," Zuko says, voice harsh and ringing in the high arches overhead. "But I am the Fire Lord. Don't forget, Tzu, that you're on this council for as long as I want your advice and not a second longer."

Tzu shakes and bows, and the councilmen leave as quickly as they dare to. When the door shuts Zuko slumps in his chair, worrying a thumbnail between his teeth and staring into the flames.

**x**

"I've had visits from four different council members," Azula says when he visits her a few days later. "Tell me, brother, are you finally planning my execution?" She doesn't sit up when he enters, and though she stopped doing that a long time ago Zuko knows that, this time, it's because she hasn't been sleeping. Dark circles hang under her eyes, and she speaks slowly. But at least she's speaking.

"Actually," he tells her, settling against the door, "I'm planning your release,"

"Not that again, Zuzu. I told you before that I won't fall for it."

"I'm serious. I told them about it at the last council meeting, and thought having them visit you would convince them. I told them you've changed."

"You're right about that…" she murmurs, so quietly Zuko almost doesn't hear. "Anyway," she says after a moment, "there's no need to worry. I've been a perfect bitch. I guess I'll stay just here and rot, the way you wanted."

"That's not what they told me."

"Hm?"

"You said you'd been a perfect bitch to them. That isn't true. Tzu, my secretary of defense, had an audience with me yesterday, and he admitted that letting you go didn't seem like such a bad idea after all. He… wouldn't have said that, if you'd been your normal self."

Azula makes a low noise in the back of her throat. "My normal self…."

It's quiet for a while, each of them occupied with their thoughts. The guards pass by again.

"I'm curious, Zuko," she says eventually, "why you want to get me out of here. Everyone on the council disagreed with you; every citizen of every other nation disagrees…. You don't owe me any favors."

"I'm trying to help you, Azula. Why can't you just be grateful?"

"Tell me."

Zuko hesitates. The sun has begun to set, the light in Azula's cell fading from white to gold, to orange and then red. It catches in Azula's hair like a fiery halo. "Because you're my sister," he says finally, looking away. "Because… because however much I hate you, I also admire you."

"And what about our father?"

"Father was the Avatar's opponent. Aang took away Father's bending, and he decided what to do with him. I can't stand in the way of that." Here his voice grows quiet and simple and sure. "But you, Azula… you were always mine, from the moment I left this place, and I'm the one who decides what to do with you."

"I see," murmurs Azula. Zuko waits, but she keeps her head down, and doesn't say anything else. After a while he rises to leave.

"I'll see you again soon," he says. Azula's face is hidden, so he can't guess at her expression, but the slope of her shoulders suggests an incredible weariness, something greater and deeper than he will ever know. It trembles in the air like heat waves or smoke, gathering at the ceiling and pressing in around him until Zuko fears he'll suffocate. The thickness of it, the frantic stillness; it's overwhelming. _Say something_, he thinks at Azula. _Say something_. Fumbling behind him for the door, he keeps his eyes on his sister, but she doesn't seem to notice the oppressive air, or that Zuko's suddenly fighting to breathe.

She doesn't answer. She doesn't even look up.

**x**

When they lead her out into the sunlight, Zuko sees what prison has done to his sister. Her skin is white and her body weak, and she looks half blind as she makes her way down the steps. For a moment he thinks they've made a mistake, brought out the wrong prisoner. In her cell she hadn't seemed so small or weak or fragile; in that small space her voice echoed and she'd seemed larger and more dangerous than she was.

Now, in the bright afternoon sun, Zuko wonders what he'd ever been afraid of.

Two guards escort her to the gates of the imperial palace, where Zuko waits in full ceremonial dress. He means to stop her as she passes, but as it turns out this isn't necessary. When she reaches him she doesn't even meet his eyes, just sinks, unprompted, into a bow, forehead pressed to the cobblestones.

"Thank you for your mercy, Fire Lord Zuko," she says. Her voice is quiet and clipped, but sincere, and little thrill runs up his spine. This is the first time she's ever used his title.

"I expect to be repaid," he tells her as she rises. She looks up, brushing hair from her eyes, then moves forward to grasp his arm, leaning in close until he can feel her warm breath against his ear. Her face is pale and serene in the harsh sunlight.

"I'll become a farmer, Zuko," she whispers, "just like I promised. You won't hear from me ever again." She smiles into his face, but digs her nails into his arm, and as she walks away Zuko wonders if he's really doing the right thing.

**end.**


End file.
